Really Real

Last week's trip to Washington DC was my first visit to "the seat of our nation's government," as Peter, Todd, and I fondly referred to it. On our way into the city, a week ago yesterday, Gary mentioned that we would be driving past the Pentagon. My first real view of the city. My first real view of terrorism. My first real view of the kind of destruction I'd previously witnessed only in pictures or in big-budget action flicks.

If a picture is worth a thousand words, a view with your own eyes is immeasurable. As we approached, I saw two conflicting images behind my eyes: the symbolic, "a mighty fortress" Pentagon that no longer existed, and the broken, battered Pentagon that has been burned into my brain for months. But suddenly, there it was, broken and battered. The symbolism and meaning of the building, the closest thing our nation has to a working fort, collided with the stark, real image of the ruins, still smoldering. It caused such a violent emotional reaction that I was nearly sick.

Even more strangely, we saw the Washington Monument, and it seemed exactly like I imagined: stately, empty, and lonely. There were absolutely no other tourists or people in sight, like some postcard image, or some post-apocalyptic vision of an abandoned city. Peter commented, "You don't really expect to come here and find it a place for quiet reflection."

You also don't expect a problem that's been plaguing you for over a year to suddenly resolve, without any help from you. I've dreamt of hearing the words "I love you," and knowing that they're truly and deeply meant -- felt -- and it's happened. And I'm shocked beyond happiness into this weird state of... paralysis? contentment? absurdist theater?

I think I've been living in my head too much lately. Maybe all my life. It comes in waves; lately I've been reading, listening, writing, and thinking more than I've been talking and socializing. But, in general, the sheer impact of real events and real places, juxtaposed with my thoughts, seems more forceful and jarring to me than it does to my friends. And the call of solitude and reflection is very persistent these days.